


Compromised

by Lady_of_the_Refrigerator



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, On-Again/Off-Again Relationship, Season/Series 02, What-If
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2019-10-02 07:47:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17260346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_of_the_Refrigerator/pseuds/Lady_of_the_Refrigerator
Summary: By the end of the second bottle of wine, Liz was starting to wonder if venting to Ressler was a good idea. [A what-if scenario exploring what could've happened between 2x08 and 2x09, set at some point post-2x10]





	1. Chapter 1

By the end of the second bottle of wine, Liz was starting to wonder if venting to Ressler was a good idea.  
  
"I don't get it. So Reddington’s using you to get to something, so what? We all went into this knowing he had an agenda. How is it surprising that you're part of it, too? Hell, if anything I figured you were even more a part of it than the rest of us.” Ressler offered her the last ounce or so of wine in the bottle, but she waved him off and he emptied it into his plastic cup instead. “Why do you care why he's actually in your life anyhow?”  
  
Liz bit her lip. She didn’t know how much of this she should she share with Ressler, or even how much she _could_ share. She couldn’t really talk about The Fulcrum specifically. And the rest, well…  
  
“It's personal. You wouldn't understand."  
  
"Try me."  
  
Liz sighed, silently mulling over how to get her point across without alienating Ressler too badly. He was bound to judge her once he knew the truth, but if she didn’t tell _someone_ soon, she was going to crack. She felt so very alone after what happened with Braxton; she didn’t know where else to turn.  
  
“Things... changed between us after Tom disappeared."  
  
"Changed how?"  
  
“It’s complicated. I don’t really want to go into details.”  
  
“Without details, I don’t know how much help I’ll be, but OK.”  
  
“Fine. Once Tom disappeared, we started spending more time together. Outside of work. He… helped me get my head on straight after what I did to Tom, after what Tom did to me. It was all kind of intense, but also not, if that makes any sense? I don’t know how to explain it.” She shook her head, staring off into the distance. “Anyway, suffice to say if you knew everything that happened, you’d probably think he shouldn't be my CI anymore."  
  
"What the hell is that supposed to—oh." Ressler blanched and looked at Liz like he was seeing her for the first time. "Jesus Christ, Keen."  
  
"I told you you wouldn't understand."  
  
“Understanding isn’t the problem. Shit.” Ressler took a deep breath, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “OK, OK. What are we talking about here? If it’s just some kind of unrequited crush, then it’s not that big a d—“  
  
“It’s not.”  
  
“It’s not a big deal?”  
  
“No. It’s not unrequited. At least I had no reason to believe it was unrequited before fucking Braxton screwed around in my head.”  
  
“What are you saying? You and Reddington have actually…?”  
  
Ressler made a vague gesture with his hands; Liz raised her eyebrows.  
  
“You sure you want to travel down this road? Remember that time Aram told you he walked in on those two techs in the supply closet and you said you couldn’t get the image out of your head for weeks?”  
  
“God, Keen, I’m not asking for a blow-by-blow. I’m just trying to get a handle on how compromised you are.”  
  
“ _Compromised?_ ”  
  
“Yeah, compromised. If it was bad for you to use Tom for information while you were still in love with him, it’s about a thousand times worse with Reddington. He could be manipulating you.”  
  
“If you were actually paying attention, that’s exactly what I’ve been complaining about. This feels like it has all the hallmarks of some grand manipulation, except _he’s_ not fitting the narrative. He’s not acting like a man whose nefarious plotting was found out, he’s… he’s acting like he’s heartbroken.”    
  
Ressler lowered his cup instead of taking a sip. “Wait, you mean all the sulking?”  
  
Liz nodded and raised a hand to start ticking off fingers. “He’s depressed, he’s taking more risks, he’s drinking more, he’s trying to impress me, to work his way back into my good graces. Whatever he wants from me that’s part of his master plan is secondary to reminding me how…” She trailed off; it was still uncomfortable to put all this into words around Ressler. To put it into words at all, really. “How good we are together. If I’m gonna believe what I see with my own two eyes, then he’s, well…”  
  
“In love with you.”  
  
Liz couldn’t help the way her stomach flipped at Ressler’s words. “I don’t know. Does that sound possible?”  
  
“Well… why not?”  
  
Liz scoffed. “People don’t fall in love with me.”  
  
“Come on, Keen. You can’t believe that.”  
  
“In case you didn’t notice, I’ve had a pretty bad track record lately. I mean, hell, Tom _murdered_ someone in front of me to make sure I had to let him go instead of getting help. No matter what anyone says, that’s not love. I don’t know what the hell that is.”  
  
“ _That’s_ manipulation.”  
  
“And Reddington isn’t trying to force my hand like that. He could, I’m sure he could. There’s so much he could do to make me feel obligated to do whatever he wants, but he’s not. He’s just…”  
  
“Sulking.”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Do you want my two cents? Not as an FBI agent, just as a guy?”  
  
Liz eyed him warily. “Sure…”  
  
“If Reddington hasn’t done anything to make you think he’s been manipulating you this whole time, if he’s acting the way he should act if he actually _does_ care about you, why don’t you believe him?”  
  
“Are you actually trying to convince me to give him another chance?”  
  
“Maybe I am,” he said with a shrug, sounding almost as surprised as she did. “You still haven’t answered the question.”  
  
Liz closed her eyes and took a calming breath, letting it out slowly. “I don’t believe him because I’ve been burned before,” she said, after a while.  
  
“And Reddington is _clearly_ just Tom Keen 2.0.”  
  
“Fuck, no, he’s not. Thank god.” She snickered quietly and added, almost as an afterthought, “In _any_ way.”  
  
“Hey, I don’t wanna know, OK? Jesus.” Ressler shuddered and shook himself. “Look. You’re not objecting to the idea that he’s using you on principle—you love him. And you’re afraid of getting hurt again.”  
  
“Of course I am.”  
  
“But that’s the big difference, isn’t it? Reddington doesn’t want to hurt you. Of course if he was using you, it would hurt like it hurt with Tom. But, like you said, he’s not Tom. _He’s not Tom_. Just because something was true once, doesn’t make it true again.”  
  
“Tell that to my PTSD.”  
  
“Well, I’m tryin’ to, Keen,” he said, with a lopsided smile.  
  
Liz snorted and buried her head in her arms on her desk for a long moment. “Shit. If I’m really gonna do this, how the hell do I even start?”  
  
“Call him. I bet he’s waiting by the phone, too, knowing him, having a little pity party.”  
  
Liz rummaged around on her desk, searching for her phone amidst the empty wrappers and half-eaten packets of snacks from her and Ressler’s makeshift vending machine dinner. When she finally unearthed it, she unlocked it and scrolled through her contacts until she found Red’s.  
  
She took a deep breath and hit call.


	2. Chapter 2

Red answered right away, not even halfway through the first ring.   
  
“Lizzy,” he said, simply; his voice was hoarse—suspiciously so.  
  
“Were you asleep?”  
  
“No.” He cleared his throat and tried again. “No. Just having a nightcap.”  
  
“And feeling sorry for yourself?”  
  
He was silent for a moment and when he spoke again, he sounded rather weary. “Did you need something, Lizzy?”  
  
“I was wondering if Dembe could pick me up. I’ve had some wine at work, I shouldn’t be driving.”  
  
“I’m sure he won’t mind, but a taxi would no doubt be quicker.”  
  
“I didn’t think you’d appreciate me taking a cab to your new safe house.”  
  
“You want Dembe to bring you here?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
A beat. “Is something wrong?”  
  
“No. No. But… I need to talk to you. I need us to talk.”  
  
She could hear rustling in the background, and a door close in the distance. “Of course. He’ll be there within the hour.”  
  
“Thank you.”   
  
Liz ended the call and set the phone back on her desk, staring at it like it might come to life at any second and wander off.  
  
“That didn’t sound so bad.”  
  
“Huh?” Liz’s head snapped up and she came face to face with a very curious Ressler. Right. He was still there, still…  listening. “Oh. No, I guess not.”  
  
A strange sort of restlessness started to bubble up inside Liz. She felt charged, like a ball of energy with nowhere productive to direct herself. She drummed her fingers on her desk, a less conspicuous nervous tic than rubbing at her scar, but not nearly as satisfying or distracting. And right now at this very moment? She _needed_ distracting. Quite desperately.  
  
For weeks, the taste of Red’s mouth flashed across her mind at the most inopportune times. The sensation of his skillful hands on her heated skin, of his body moving against her, inside her… She could feel the memories creeping up on her even now, as she faced the prospect of seeing him without the veneer of their work obligations to serve as a barrier between them.   
  
Ressler’s attention itched at the back of Liz’s neck as self-consciousness began to set in. Ever since she found out about The Fulcrum, she’d been alone in the shame that she had allowed herself to be taken in again. But now Ressler knew, he knew that she and Red were… that they had… It wasn’t even outside the realm of possibility that their discussion tonight could lead to them reconciling. If that was the case, well…  
  
“God. I can’t believe this is my life now.”  
  
“If you need me to, I don’t know, be on standby or something, be backup for you in case this doesn’t go the way you—“  
  
“I’m gonna go wait for Dembe out by my car,” she said, standing abruptly; the sudden movement and interruption brought Ressler up short.   
  
“Sure. Fine. Whatever,” he said, more than a little dejected.  
  
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”  
  
“No, it’s fine, I get it. You’re nervous.”  
  
“Yeah, I am. I don’t even know if I’m gonna get through this and not just… chicken out and tell him to go fuck himself again.”  
  
Ressler chuckled. “Well, I’m sure he’s used to it if you do.”  
  
Liz paused putting on her coat to playfully flip him off and he only chuckled louder. She rolled her eyes and headed for the door.  
  
“Hey, Keen,” Ressler called after her; she turned back to look at him. “Good luck.”  
  
“Thanks.” She shook her head and let out a breathless little laugh. “I can’t believe I have your blessing for this.”  
  
“It’s not like it’s completely selfless of me. You being on good terms with Reddington makes my job easier—and safer! If this is the only way that happens—and at this point, it kinda seems like it is—then so be it.”   
  
“Well, whatever the reason… I appreciate it.”  
  


* * *

  
  
Red pulled the door open before Dembe even had a chance to put the key in the lock.   
  
“Come in, come in, you’ll catch your death out on the stoop,” he said, and stepped aside so they could move past him into the entryway.  
  
Red lingered slightly nearer to Liz than was strictly necessary after he closed and locked the door.   
  
“Can I take your coat?” he asked, a little too polite, overeager.  
  
“Uh… sure,” Liz said.  
  
Dembe glanced back and forth between the two of them and quietly excused himself, shaking his head as he went.  
  
Red waited patiently for Liz to unwind her scarf from her neck and shrug out of her coat. She stuffed her knit cap down one of the sleeves and handed everything over to Red.   
  
She took advantage of the time it took him to find a suitable place for her things in the closet to observe him. He was still a little drunk—they both were—but he had obviously made a very recent effort to clean himself up. His aftershave smelled fresh, if a bit too heavily applied, and his skin looked bright and pink and newly washed.  
   
He was nervous, too—that much was obvious. He didn’t have the slightest clue what to expect from her tonight. Liz hadn’t sought out a meeting like this since before everything went to hell. He couldn’t quite hide the undercurrent of hope in his expression, in his body language; Liz felt a pang in her chest. It seemed so… genuine. And not just because she wanted it to be.  
  
Red was a good actor. Liz knew that. He wouldn’t have survived this long if he wasn’t. But this didn’t feel like an act. And, even more relevant, there would be absolutely no use in continuing the ruse at this point anyway. Short of altering her memory, there was no way to change what she knew and nothing to gain from acting like his feelings were real unless they were, since she already doubted him.  
  
After an interminably awkward silence, Red ushered her into the study.  
  
“Would you like something to drink?” he asked; he unstoppered the crystal decanter and held it over a tumbler, waiting for her answer.  
  
“I think I’ve had enough for the night.”  
  
He nodded and after a moment, he put the stopper back in without pouring anything for himself either.  
  
“So… what did you want to talk about?” he asked; he didn’t quite manage to sound nonchalant, like his hope and his wariness combined to sap him of some of his usual ability to dissemble.    
  
“Us.”  
  
“‘Us’ as in FBI agent and informant or ‘us’ as in—“  
  
“‘Us’ as in us,” she said. “‘Us’ as in what we were before you ran off and got yourself locked up in a fucking fortress.”  
  
Red took a deep breath and let it out all at once in a harsh exhalation. “Right. OK. What would you like to—”  
  
“I wanted it to be real so badly,” Liz whispered, right to the point, her voice cracking as she struggled and stumbled to get the words out as quickly as she could, lest she never get them out at all. She couldn’t believe that she was choking up. She thought she was long past that stage, that she only had bitterness left.  
  
It had been her who stepped over each and every line before—her who had leaned in one cold winter evening and kissed Red on the love seat in front of the fireplace, her who had taken his hands from neutral ground and placed them under the hem of her sweater, her who led him to her bedroom and began undressing them both.    
  
After Braxton, Liz started to think she shouldn’t have pursued him so hard that night. She wondered if his uncertainty might have been his way of being kind, of not pushing her past the point of no return, but she’d steamrolled right over every boundary in her haste.   
  
And it had been _wonderful_. Red helped her feel things she never knew she could feel. She had never had a lover who was so attentive to her needs, so… turned on by the very idea of her pleasure. That was partly why her disillusionment had hit so hard—if Red’s passion could be fake, anything could be.  
  
“What we had was real, Lizzy. It _is_ real.” He moved to take an instinctive step towards her, but caught himself, very aware of how hesitant she’d been with him touching her since Braxton. She took a step forward herself, and his relief showed in the softening of every awkward angle of his body. Another step forward and her fingers brushed against his. “All of it. I would never, _could_ never try to take advantage of you the way that…” He trailed off, and some of the color drained from his face.   
  
The way that Tom had.   
  
That’s what he almost said. And maybe he’d considered that before, but maybe he hadn’t. Maybe this was the first time the full weight of the implications occurred to him. That they’d fallen into bed together, fallen into a relationship, then he’d inadvertently led her to discover The Fulcrum and the mystery surrounding it and the fact he needed it desperately—from her.  
  
“Do you have any idea what it felt like? For me to let my guard down for the first time after Tom and then almost immediately find out that the only reason you’re in my life is because you want something that I have?”  
  
“But it’s not. I understand why it feels like it is, but…” He took a shaky breath. “I came into you life for a multitude of reasons, Lizzy. The Fulcrum was only one of them, and it was so far down that list, it almost didn’t matter at all. Until it did. And even then… It only mattered because you were in danger. If I could’ve gone on pretending like it was in my possession forever, I would have.   
  
“As long as my enemies thought I had it, I was perfectly satisfied to let the location remain a mystery to me, too. There was no chance anyone would ever be able to steal it from me, no matter how hard they tried. And as long as I didn’t know, no one could torture the location out of me either.  
  
“But Braxton forced my hand. If I had been able to neutralize him without word getting out…” He shrugged. “But that’s moot now, isn’t it? The cat’s out of the bag. The Cabal suspects Braxton was right, that I don’t have it. No matter how hard I work to prevent it, truth will out. I should be used to that by now.”  
  
“You still want me to give it to you.”  
  
“I wish you would. It would be… beneficial for both of us. But I can’t make you. I can’t demand it of you. It’s yours to do with as _you_ wish—I can only offer guidance if you want to take it.”   
  
The intensity of Red’s gaze made Liz’s stomach flutter, but there was also a softness to it, a softness and a fondness that she prayed could only be real.  
  
“Regardless of The Fulcrum,” he said, his voice low and earnest, “if you take anything away from this conversation tonight, I hope it’s this: being with you meant the world to me. Not a day goes by when I don’t wish things had gone a different way.”  
  
“I wish they’d gone a different way, too. I wish…”  
  
He shifted his body, and his fingers brushed hers again, but he made no move to take her hand.  
  
“What do you wish, Lizzy?”  
  
“You could have told me what you were planning to do. If you had, maybe I could’ve… I don’t know. Helped you? Talked you out of it? Convinced you that maybe _we_ could’ve tried to figure out where it was?”  
  
Thoughts moved quickly behind Red’s eyes as they flitted back and forth over her face. “You’re right.”  
  
Liz sucked in a breath. She expected him to argue. Him agreeing with her took the wind out of her sails.  
  
“Why didn’t you?”  
  
“I don’t know. I don’t think I’ve adjusted to the idea that _not_ hiding things is an option. Our relationship… progressed… so unexpectedly, I wasn’t yet prepared to change tactics.”  
  
“I must be losing my mind,” she said.  
  
“Why?”  
  
“Because I think I might believe you.”  
  
“Well, that’s—mmm.” She threw her arms around his neck and cut him off with a kiss. His hands came up to rest on the back of her shoulders, gentler than they had any need to be, as if he was afraid to pull her closer despite wanting to do so desperately.  
  
“It’s OK,” Liz said, her voice low, her breath mingling with his, “I want you to touch me.”   
  
And then she kissed him again.   
  
The sound of Red whimpering into her mouth as he finally tightened his embrace was music to her ears. It brought her back to the first night she kissed him, when his soft, surprised gasp had done more to inform her opinion of him than just about anything else. If all of it was really true, then maybe she _was_ making the right decision here.   
  
When they pulled back from the kiss, they studied each others faces as they struggled to catch their breath, arms still wrapped around shoulders, fingers still grasping at clothing.  
  
“Where’s the bedroom in this place?”  
  
“Upstairs, down the hall, third door on the left.”  
  
“Sounds complicated—we could just stay here instead.”   
  
“Well, that’s not terribly romantic.”  
  
“Is romance really the goal here?”  
  
He looked thoughtful, wistful. “It could be. If you’d like it to be.”  
  
“You’d like it to be.”  
  
He searched her face for a long, silent moment. “I would like it to be very much. Besides, it’s better than having my ass stick to that leather sofa.”  
  
“OK. Take me to bed, then. I have other plans for that ass.”  
  
Red’s eyes sparked with heat and mischief, and his lips curved slowly into a grin. “I’ll bet you do.”


	3. Chapter 3

Liz propped herself up on one arm so she could better admire her handiwork down the length of Red’s body—he was flat on his stomach, with a fading pink flush across his backside, punctuated with a single lingering bite mark on one cheek. She tried to stretch out next to him as well as she could, but with her leg still half-lodged under his dead weight, that was easier said than done.   
  
It wasn’t as though Red was passed out per se… but he was certainly a little closer to that than merely lounging in the afterglow like she was. She ran her hand over his rosy skin and he soon began to stir, leaning into the pressure with a sleepy, wordless murmur; he slowly rolled over onto his back, savoring the ache as his weight settled fully onto his pleasantly sore ass.  
  
“Welcome back,” Liz whispered into his ear, and then she took his earlobe between her teeth, tugging at it gently. She could feel his answering moan vibrate in his throat.  
  
“Holy shit,” he whispered back, with feeling; Liz snorted a laugh.   
  
“You’re cute when you swear.”  
  
“Am I?”  
  
“Yeah. You should do it more often. It humanizes you. Takes away some of the mystique.”  
  
“I’ll take it under advisement,” he said, and twisted his neck so he could seek out her lips for a deep, leisurely kiss. Pleasure curled in Liz’s chest, slithered down to her belly as their mouths moved together. His fingertips ghosted over her cheek, barely stirring the pale, downy hairs there. The light touch sent a shiver down her spine, and when she finally pulled back and he let her bottom lip slip from his own gentle, tugging teeth, a twisting heat began to ache again between her legs.  
  
“So I take it you enjoyed yourself,” she said, her voice lowering with growing arousal.  
  
“My god, Lizzy… If make up sex with you is always going to be _that_ fantastic, I might have to start—“  
  
She laid a finger across his lips, cutting him off.  
  
“Don’t even think it.”  
  
He pressed a kiss to her finger and she could feel his smile against her skin, see it in the crinkles around his eyes. He sighed contentedly, and she couldn’t help but bask in the warmth of his gaze.  
  
“I hope _you_ enjoyed yourself,” he said.   
  
“Mmm, more than is probably healthy.”  
  
His smile widened with a laugh. “Well, healthy or unhealthy, tonight you were… _inspired_.”  
  
“You bring out my creative side, I guess.”  
  
He put his hand over his heart and spoke with an odd solemnity, “Well, it’s an honor to be given the opportunity to be your muse.”  
  
“You’re ridiculous,” Liz said, but somehow his eccentric charm endeared him to her even more. He nuzzled against her and she leaned into him.  
  
“I missed this,” he said. “The pillow talk, the absurd sexual chemistry, the… bone-deep satisfaction—”    
  
“The shameless ego-stroking…” she quipped, but sobered quickly. “So did I.”  
  
Liz turned her attention again to Red’s bare chest, lazily tracing her fingers around, drawing patterns on his skin, sketching constellations from his scars. She was fascinated by the softness of his body against hers, by the strength coiled and hidden beneath the surface.   
  
His contrasts made up a large part of his appeal, she thought. If he were only the hardened criminal the world thought he was, there was no chance in hell she would be here with him. His gentleness, his nurturing nature, those traits drew her to him as much as his darkness—and they weren’t the facade she had feared they were.  
  
“I miss the romance,” he said, after a while, “even if it was kind of a… whirlwind.”  
  
Liz glanced up from her exploration of his chest to meet his eyes for a brief moment. “I miss it, too,” she said.   
  
A whirlwind. That was a good way to describe those few weeks.  
  
Her body began to tense up beyond her control as memories flooded back and she had to consciously remind herself to breathe, remind herself that her worst fears _weren’t_ actually realized the way she thought they had been. Those days she spent with Red before hadn’t been part of some elaborate plot to insinuate himself even further into her life in order to turn on her later—it was real. _It was all real._  
  
Curling up together on the couch to read and listen to Red’s records, enthusiastic experimenting in the bedroom—and the bathroom, and the kitchen, and the stairwell—turning to each other in the middle of the night after horrible nightmares, impromptu late night scantily-clad baking sessions, sharing his excitement whenever he got a chance to introduce her to something she’d never experienced before…  
  
It might’ve all seemed too good to be true—and it certainly had seemed that way afterwards—but it wasn’t. Liz was… Liz was in love with a man who actually, genuinely loved her back. A man who would rather die than see her hurt, if it was at all in his power to prevent it. As hard as it was to wrap her mind around someone caring about her that much, Red in fact did.  
  
Red watched her now, quiet and intent, with an understanding in his eyes that Liz could feel in her soul. “You can let yourself enjoy it, you know.”  
  
“I know. I just… have to get past the knee-jerk panic reaction first.”    
  
In need of a distraction, she bent down and ran her tongue over one of his nipples, teasing it until it tightened before blowing air across the damp flesh; he shivered under her. She slid her hand slowly down the middle of his chest to rest on his belly and his cock jumped, not quite as satiated as it had been not long ago.  
  
“Why don’t we start over?” he said. “Starting tomorrow—well, this morning—we’ll just go forward from this point with a clean slate. I’ll take you to dinner. There’s a charming old cafe around the—”  
  
“Those weeks were some of the best of my life, Red,” she interrupted. “I don’t want to pretend they never happened.”  
  
“They were some of the best weeks of mine, too. But it doesn’t really matter how good they were if they’re tainted for you now.”  
  
“They’re tainted for me _for_ now. Someday, I’m sure it won’t trigger that… pain, but the feelings are still so fresh at the moment that it’s hard to convince my body those memories are anything but what I feared they were.”  
  
“We’ll have to make new memories, then. To help reshape the old ones. Give them context.”    
  
“That sounds like something we can do.”  
  
Red smiled and reached for her hand. “I love you, Lizzy,” he said, and brought her palm up to his mouth to press a kiss there. “I’ve loved you for a very long time. _That_ is the main and driving force behind why I’m in your life the way I am, and why I would do damn near anything to earn the privilege to continue to be so.”   
  
Liz nodded, her eyes welling up with tears despite herself. Red hadn’t allowed himself to say it before, perhaps too cautious, too wary of putting pressure on her own feelings, but his hesitance had only served to make her doubt him. To hear him say those words now…  
  
She opened her mouth to speak, but couldn’t convince her voice to cooperate.  
  
“It’s all right,” Red said, “I know.”  
  
Liz shifted so she could throw her leg across his body and pushed herself up to straddle his thighs. Red’s cock had begun to stir where it lay and she slid forward so she could rub herself against it, so she could feel it stretch and fill and harden under her touch.   
  
“God, Lizzy…” Red’s hands came up to caress her, up and down the sensitive skin along her sides. She sat up, arching her back and letting the bedsheets fall to puddle at her waist.   
  
Red watched her move, his awe of her clear in every flicker of emotion across his face. The intensity of his attention might’ve been embarrassing or even uncomfortable if he were a different man, if she didn’t find the idea of Red, specifically, being captivated by her so invigorating. What on earth made her so special to him? She still hadn’t puzzled _that_ out properly, but she was thankful that his interest couldn’t so easily be explained away by The Fulcrum.   
  
Liz positioned him against her and began to draw him into her body; he cried out, just the slightest sound floating past parted lips, his eyes laser focused on her own. He felt so good inside her, he always felt so _good_ …   
  
She remembered how she felt that first night when she guided him inside—how frustrating it had been to know it could be so good between them, but that she’d spent so long running away from the potential they had.   
  
Red’s presence had been like a siren’s call from the moment he stepped into her life, luring her away from her life as she knew it, from her career as she’d planned it, from her _husband_. He was everything she’d ever been tempted by, all rolled up into one rather enticing package—and that was exactly what scared her so much.   
  
He laid his hand flat on her abdomen now; she leaned into the pressure, grinding herself down against his groin. She felt so amazingly full, so heavy with arousal, and when he slid his thumb lower to rub her clit, she _growled_.  
  
Liz’s rhythm faltered as Red started to spend himself, throbbing deep inside her; she bucked her hips erratically, pushing against his frantic fingers and his own pressing thrusts as he tried to help her across the finish line with him. All at once, the tension broke and pleasure washed over her in waves as his body went lax under her.  
  
Liz would never tire of watching Red reach his climax, the way years just… melted away from his face. It was like having a window into the past, a chance to see the man he was before he became The Concierge of Crime—a man with far fewer worries and fears and traumas battling for his soul. A man who still existed somewhere beyond his defenses, who called to the woman she hid beyond her own.


	4. Chapter 4

Red’s bathroom was wonderful—opulent and more well-appointed than any that Liz had seen outside of a hotel—but none of its luxuries made it any easier for her to trudge through the motions of her makeshift morning routine, more zombie than human thanks to the aftereffects of too much wine, too little sleep, and just the right amount of sex.  
  
Red wasn’t any better off than she was, but he did hide his hangover a little better than she did. She watched him pad groggily out of the bathroom completely nude, having abandoned his damp towel on the tile floor after drying off, and she couldn’t help but take one last moment to admire the tiny pink marks her teeth had left on his bare ass before they finally faded away completely.  
  
With her ablutions finished, she returned to the bedroom to find Red still shirtless in front of his wardrobe, hands on his hips, wearing a pair of dark woolen trousers with the fly still undone. He nodded towards two vests he had pulled out and hung side by side, one the same solid charcoal color as his trousers and the other just as dark but with a faint check pattern.  
  
“Which one should I go with today, odd vest or matching?”  
  
“Is this burgundy?” she said, rubbing the material between her fingers.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“I like it. It’s subtle, but very… rich and deep.”  
  
“Odd vest it is, then.” He tucked the charcoal vest back where it belonged on the clothes rail.  
  
Red reached for his undershirt and pulled it over his head, tucked it in, and zipped and buttoned his fly. Then he slid his arms into his crisp, white dress shirt.  
  
Liz tried and failed to fight off a yawn.  
  
“Am I boring you?” Red teased as he adjusted his collar before putting on the burgundy vest.  
  
“God, no,” she said with a snort. “How on earth am I supposed to function today?”  
  
“Oh, it’s nothing a couple hours sleep, a shower, and a cup of coffee can’t fix.” He raised his eyebrows and his mouth quirked up into an easy grin. “Well… a _pot_ of coffee, probably.”  
  
“The sleep and the shower will have to wait.” Liz took a deep, cleansing breath and started rooting around for her discarded clothing, slipping it on piece by piece. Red watched her with his tie still hanging untied around his neck.  
  
“Are you all right?”  
  
“I’m nervous.” She pulled her heavy boots onto her feet and wandered down to the entryway with Red trailing after her.  
  
“Nervous in a good way or a bad way?”  
  
“Mmm, both,” she said. “Do you really think we can do this?”  
  
“Lizzy, I think you and I could do anything at each other’s side.”  
  
Liz smiled in spite of her nerves. She didn’t know if that was his answer because they were still in the honeymoon phase and everything seemed possible, but she did know at that moment he must really believe it to be true, or else he wouldn’t say it at all. The idea of that—that despite all he’d seen in his life he could believe they were unstoppable together? It warmed her through and through.  
  
“You think it’s a good plan?” she asked.  
  
“I think it’s an excellent plan—the sooner we put it into motion, the better.” Red opened the closet and retrieved her coat, taking it from the hanger and holding it up for her. “We’ll go in today and start laying the groundwork.”  
  
Liz took her knit cap and scarf from where she’d stashed them in her coat sleeve and allowed Red to help her into it. He fixed her lapels and brushed over the fabric on her shoulders with a lingering caress.  
  
“If we’re gonna do this, we’ll need someone on the inside. Someone other than me who knows we’re changing tactics. I can’t keep pretending I have no say in all of this, not with everyone. It’ll get harder and harder to hide the longer we do this.”  
  
“You need an ally,” he said, thoughtful, with a furrow between his brows. “Harold would feel obligated to report back to his superiors at Main Justice.”  
  
“I couldn’t put that kind of pressure on Aram,” Liz said, donning her cap and winding her scarf around her neck.  
  
“I’m sure Agent Navabi would be an invaluable resource—“  
  
“Actually, I was thinking Ressler.”  
  
Red looked a bit taken aback. “Seriously?”  
  
Liz nodded. “He can be… practical when he needs to be. Besides, he already knows about us,” she said. “He’s actually the one who encouraged me to call you last night after he caught me trying to drown my sorrows in my fourth plastic cup of wine.”  
  
Red studied her face, chewing absently on the inside of his cheek. “Maybe I underestimated Donald.”  
  
He straightened the folded brim of her cap and smoothed his hands down the sides of her face until he cradled her cheeks with his palms. His let out a sigh, his breath catching, before he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers in a soft kiss.  
  
Sweet and innocent and heartfelt, it was the kind of kiss Liz never would’ve attributed to a man like Red until she had experienced it first hand. His stories about his sexual and sensual exploits painted a very different picture of the man he was in a relationship than the reality. But perhaps some of the contrast was due to the depth of his feelings for her—this was the version of him that existed when he was in love.  
  
Liz knew why she doubted him, had every valid reason to do it, but this? This was the version of Red she’d glimpsed when they were together before Braxton, the version her wounded heart tried to tell her didn’t—couldn’t—exist. But it did. And it was truer than the other versions.  
  
She gave one of the hands holding her cheeks an affectionate squeeze. “See you in a little while.”


End file.
